Chapter 24 #2
“I found a specialist for myself. I have an appointment Friday morning. They sound a lot more thorough.” So much so, they’d suggested bringing a loved one along to provide insight into how she operated.
When she said she didn’t have anyone she was comfortable bringing along, they asked her if she could bring in short, written statements from people in three different spheres of life.
Maybe Anson …? No. She didn’t want him thinking of her as a patient with a problem. At least not any more than he already did.
She cleared her throat. “Anyway, even if it doesn’t turn out to be ADHD, they diagnose and treat other disorders.”
“I’m glad. You deserve to feel your best.” He squeezed her shoulder, then stuffed his hand in his pocket. “As for the sweets issue, these don’t have refined flour or sugar.”
“What do they have?”
“Coconut flour, dark chocolate, maple syrup, a few other things.”
A sweet, chocolaty scent met her as she popped the lid.
“All right. Let’s give ’em a try.” She led the way to the kitchen, put the parsley in the fridge for later, and set the cookies on the counter peninsula that separated the kitchen from the dining area.
She took a napkin for herself and offered one to Anson.
He accepted, and they each took a cookie.
Fat and round, the dough hadn’t spread much in the oven.
Blaze took her first bite, and crumbles sprinkled onto her hand.
The cookie sapped the moisture from her mouth.
Bitter chocolate and arid coconut flour lingered on her tongue.
She swallowed hard. Twice. Embarrassment flushed her chest and neck.
What should she say? What if her face had already given away her opinion?
She risked lifting her gaze.
Anson held his cookie between his thumb and index finger. He chewed slowly and studied the remaining portion like he was deciding how to respond to an insult. He must not have tried one before bringing them over. What was it like to be so confident that failure came as such a shock?
A laugh escaped her throat. She lifted her hand to stop it, but he looked at her.
The corner of his mouth lifted. He parted his lips as if to speak, but instead he laughed rich and low.
Blaze set her cookie on her napkin and retrieved two glasses of milk. She passed one to him. “Anson Marsh, I do believe we’ve discovered the one thing in this world you’re not good at.”
He snorted and took a long drink. “Well.” He set the milk on the counter next to their discarded cookies and cleared his throat. “That’s a real shame, because I wasn’t actually trying to bake cookies.” He braced a hand on the counter.
“That makes more sense. If you were trying to make cotton balls, you’re well on your way.”
He nodded as if to say he’d deserved that. His smile relaxed as his gaze roved over her face. “I was trying to show you how much I care about you.”
Her mouth went dry again. Did he mean care in a romantic sense?
More likely, the miniseries he’d interrupted was fueling her imagination.
“I value our friendship too. You’re not who I thought you were.
Or maybe you’ve changed since I made my initial judgments.
I suppose I have too. Growing up will do that for a person.
” Was this how Mercy felt when she babbled?
Blaze couldn’t stop the words from spilling out.
“And they say friendships are harder to establish as adults, but we kind of fell into this, and—”
“I’m falling for you, but not like that.” Calm and steady, his voice conveyed none of the self-consciousness that zapped through her veins.
Paired with his serious expression, there was only one logical interpretation of his words, right? But … “Not like that, how?”
“As much as I appreciate you as a friend, there’s a lot more to how I feel about you.”
“How do you feel?”
“Surprised.” He shifted closer.
Closer than a friend would stand. Right? Shortness of breath might be depriving her brain of the oxygen it needed to interpret the situation.
His eyes flickered over her face again, halting her spinning mind. “Impressed.” He slipped a lock of hair behind her ear. His finger traced the shell of her ear and sent tingles all the way down to her fingertips and toes. “Loyal. You’ve always intrigued me.”
“Always?” Her voice shook. His tender touch was the realization of weeks’ worth of hopes and daydreams.
“I was a fool to keep my distance, but I kept tabs on you through high school.” If he weren’t standing so close, she might have missed the color shading his cheeks.
He was blushing? Over her? “When I came back after college, I tracked where you sat during services. I couldn’t resist your shows.
” He winced. “Earlier this year, there was talk of you leaving to pursue a career in music, and the idea of you leaving was a gut punch.”
“But we …” She shook her head. “We weren’t even friends then.”
“Like I said, that’s my fault. My failure to see what was right in front of me. I’m sorry I misjudged you. Can you forgive me?”
She’d never tried to break the ice either. She’d noticed his attitude toward her, written him off, and had been judging him for it ever since. Maybe Pride and Prejudice would’ve been a more fitting miniseries to watch today.
Yet there he was, openly admitting his faults. Seeking forgiveness. Humility skyrocketed to the top of the list of traits she considered appealing in a man—a list that hadn’t mattered in years. But now Anson, the most upstanding guy she knew, was standing in her kitchen, laying out his heart.
For her. Blaze Astley. The girl who’d once burned down a building. The woman who couldn’t seem to get her professional life together. The guardian who could barely look after herself.
He touched her hand where it rested on the countertop. “Forgive me?”
She tensed her arm, keeping her hand in place. This felt too good to be true. “I’m not Sydney.”
His head tipped, kindness in his eyes. “I know exactly who you are.”
The vow sparked hope in her chest.
“You are a survivor. An overcomer. A creative thinker. The best voice Many Oaks has ever heard—”
“What about Michaela?” Philip’s pop-singer wife was internationally famous, and for good reason.
“You’re better.”
She dipped her chin in disbelief. “Anson.”
“You will never convince me otherwise.” He threaded his fingers between hers until their palms pressed together.
She could only swallow and wait, staring at their hands.
“You’re a talented salesperson with a generous heart. You live a life of grace and kindness. If there’s anyone you should’ve kept your guard up with, it’s me. And yet you’ve shown me compassion and acceptance that I don’t deserve. And my biggest problem with you …”
She bit her lip and met his eyes again.
“My biggest problem with you is how you won’t show yourself that same understanding. I hate seeing the hurt that causes, and I hate that I’m one of the people who treated you in a way that led you to believe you don’t deserve the grace you give others.”
She licked her lips, defenses and insecurities toppling. “What grace? I still haven’t agreed to forgive you.”
A slow smile pulled at his lips until a dimple appeared in his cheek. “Forgive me, Blaze?” He traced her jaw until the knuckle of his index finger rested under her chin. His gaze fell to her lips.
He wasn’t only asking for forgiveness. He was asking for a kiss—an entire relationship.
She longed to step into that with him, but all these hopes and dreams sprang from an ideal, and how many times had people let her down? Left her to fend for herself when she needed them most? Even Anson had failed her.
Was it safe to trust him with her heart?
Anson watched the war play out in Blaze’s eyes.
He’d already said all he could to convey his sincerity and convince her to see herself his way.
The Lord would have to do the rest. The transformation wouldn’t happen in a moment, but what better place for her to take a step forward than on an autumn afternoon in her kitchen, the scent of chocolate from his ill-fated cookies floating on the air?
She folded her fingers tighter around his hand, and he had to look to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. His attention raced back to her face. She lifted her chin. Her lashes fluttered closed.
Victory sailed through him. He tugged her hand, and she tipped closer, free hand braced at his side as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips were soft and full and—
She leaned back, creating a sliver of space.
He clenched his teeth against groaning a complaint.
He opened his eyes to find her studying him.
He wanted to promise her that she was safe, but his thick throat kept him silent.
It was hard enough to school his ragged breath as his heartbeat rocked his chest. He waited, forehead against hers, fingers on the smooth, warm skin of her neck.
The hair he’d tucked behind her ear tickled his thumb.
Her head carefully still, as though to issue no accidental encouragement, her brown eyes peered into his. “You mean all that?”
“And more.”
Her exhale brushed his chin. Trust settled in her eyes, and instead of fighting the rush of satisfaction, he relished every detail from her chiffon skin and floral scent to the way her breathing deepened and slowed.
He nuzzled her cheek, and she tilted her head.
The fringe of her lashes eased to her cheeks as her eyes closed.
This time, when their lips touched, she melted into him.
If she was an inspiration on stage, in his arms, she was an epiphany.
He was no artist at expressing himself the way she was, so he poured as much of “and more” as he could into each move and breath and touch.
When he broke the kiss, he brushed his fingers over her hair. Looking into the depths of her eyes, he swallowed so he could speak. “And even more.”